


Even If It Kills Me

by Fangs17



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Almost death, Dreamscapes, Hospitals, sensation versus perception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangs17/pseuds/Fangs17
Summary: “Playing with fire… don’t you know you’ll get burned?”





	Even If It Kills Me

 

Silence.

Ha. Silence.

How I wish I could lay here and not hear a thing for once. There’s a song crashing around me, crescendoing until the very air itself seems to vibrate with dark energy. The lightning striking 3 o’clock is the downbeat, the thunder harmonizing in overtones, the crack of my bones adding resonance - the voice of a song in my head of things deadly and unspoken.  

_ “What say the Raven?” _

A swirl of black against black. An abyss in the middle of the night sky. Her hood pulled low, over eyes that would, no doubt if I had ever seen them, be empty and unforgiving.

_ “What say the Raven?” _

Cold. Dark. Malicious. Deadly – all the too accurate. A figure of unknown shape shielded in night. A voice seductive to those who know what follows not far behind. 

_ “What say the Raven?”  _

Smirking. Playful. She knows exactly what comes next.

“The Raven say, Ay,” I am not aware that the change, the not so subtle shift in my life won’t change this arrangement. She won’t care. There is no pity for anyone within her soulless chest.

_ “Does the Raven acknowledge?” _

“The Raven speaks of things unlasting and yet never acknowledges the passing,”  A challenge.

_ “Playing with fire… don’t you know you’ll get burned?” _

“I’ve already reached for the flames and gotten my hand burned; I think I have more than enough scars to reach for  _ Death _ ,” A hissing match ensues from the very universe around us. Dry and metallic, sparks flying (a machine’s tongue) laced with something slimy and malicious, dripping with deception (a snake’s venom) clashing in a single sound. It is a melody that should terrify me, but it doesn't; I have heard it too many times before from people I dared called family.

_ “Who are you that you dare speak my name?” _

“Who are you to judge my soul if you truly know my intent?”

Tut. Tut. Tut. A biting click of tongue against the velvety malice of the chuckle backing it.  _ “Temptress, temptress… the Raven tempt the Tiger. Have you forgotten I am, and have always been, your only friend?” _

Slipping from under the tangle of sterile, white sheets, I rise. The machine in the corner monitors my progress like a silent guardian, a light at the top blinking from green to yellow. My feet hit the cold, lifeless tile and an emergency motion light flips on in the corner. I should be able to see her better but I can't - she seems to suck the light out of the sterile room. My arms fold across my achingly sore chest, careful to not tangle the tubing or jostle the port in the soft of my arm. I hold my chin high, even though the simple motion of standing has caused my heart to struggle as it fights against gravity. Sweat beads on my brow and between my shoulder blades, slowly dripping down, tracing my spine. The painkillers in the drip enter my blood a little faster; I can feel when it enters my arm without needing to look, it’s colder than saline and yet sets my bloodstream on fire. My heart steadies out and my lungs draw in the pure oxygen being offered from the tank connected to my nose. When I dare speak, I am surprised to hear my voice doesn’t shake. “But the Tiger tempt the Hunter.”

_ “You can joke now, but you’re still the Raven.”  _

Her words don’t come alone, I've never been this defiant, ignored so plainly, her power. What she spoke, while the words themselves not harsh, was delivered in the manner that a tyrant, so sure of her power, would speak to a rebellious servant. Meant to elect fear… desperation even. She steps closer. One step. 

Reptilian; sensual in nature spoken to the demon within my chest fighting to rise to the surface. Fighting to crawl out of my throat and return to its master. Two steps. 

I hold my ground. I do not back away. It angers her; I'm starting to feel wave after wave of pain – and it’s my fault, I am  _ here _ after all. Three steps. 

The itch, the unmistakable itch of longing. It gets stronger with each step she takes closer but I use what little strength I have to push back despite knowing it would be easier to give in. Halfway between the door and me she stumbles to a halt. If only I could see her eyes-

_ “What are you trying here, little birdie. You can’t escape. I clipped your wings, remember?” _

“Broken bones heal,” Defiance. In the absence of words that follow, I know that there is no going back. Whatever may come after this, I can't back down. I promised my brother I wouldn't leave him again, and he’s the only thing that matters now.

_ “Damage of the heart can be cured. You’re perfect proof of that. The heat is forgiving. But the wings, the soul? You only get one and once your wings have been broken - you’ll never fly again.” _

“Who says I'm asking to fly? You assume all these things and yet have you ever stopped to consider what I actually want?” I suck in a breath, tasting the metallic bite blood in my mouth from where my teeth had slashed my tongue earlier in the day.  

She looks at me, through me, and the darkness swirling around her thickens.  _ “What you want doesn't matter to me. Why should it? You are nothing, Raven. A useless carrion. You feast where others have fallen.” _

“So do you.”

She’s completely silent, her grip on my body slipping. I keep fighting.

“YOU are nothing,  _ Death _ ,” I spit out her name and she flinches, taking a step back. “You have taken everything from me. My pride. My dignity. My self-worth. But I won't let you take my life.” The demon within my chest has retreated so far down its claws rip into my stomach. I’ve pushed her back to my door. Seeing her nails makes notches in the metal frame ignites a fire fueled by courage in my belly. A vague thought strums against the back of my mind… Why is my door open? The nurses never leave my door open.

“Leave.”

_ “No!” _

“Leave!” It’s a command. I take pleasure in seeing her usually solid figure begin to fade from only my words. 

_ “I'll be back tomorrow night,” _ a feeble attempt at sounding powerful is made, but that’s all it is - an attempt. 

“I look forward to it,” my voice falls around her like poison. She can no longer claim me.

A blonde curl has escaped her hood, falling over the empty pit of her eyes. Her form shrinks and the darkness fades until all that’s left is the swirling wallpaper in the moonlight from the window and the taste of blood in my mouth. I sink into the bed, my heart choosing that moment to forget to beat. 

My brother startles awake as the monitor standing guard over me begins to beep angrily. The graveyard shift nurse opens the door not three seconds later, hesitating at seeing the shallow scratch marks on the frame before rushing in to help me. Their voices mingle above me but I don’t hear words. Another form enters my blurry vision, a man, my graveyard doctor. As I sink into the comforting darkness of the night I chuckle to myself. Let Death come. 

I will survive. Even if it kills me.


End file.
